iVoldy
by GinnyWazlibRocks
Summary: What will happen when Voldemort goes 21st century? The good, the bad, and the explosive of an upgraded wizarding world to iPods, computers, and video games. No ships, so far. Rated for mild language... Epilogue up!
1. UPS Prologue

Well, I've got a new story, up and running, and hopefully it'll pull through like my first one did. This one is all based on technology, so it should be interesting.

DC: I own nothing. I'd disclaim specific ideas, but that'd spoil today's installment. For further ramblings of how franchise-less I am, read the note at the bottom.

And now, a new tale begins!

It was another dark, gloomy, despairing night over Malfoy Manor. The rather pointed fact that _every_ night was dark, gloomy and despairing over Malfoy Manor is easily ignored, as good opening sentences are hard to come by.

A lone figure, hunched with the weight of a bundle in its arms stalked quickly up the walk, and to the front door. It rang the doorbell.

In a few minutes, a peephole creaked open. "Yessss?" came a low, ominous voice.

"UPS. I have a package for the Mister Voldemort… Ah… Voldemort."

The eye blinked and turned away. "One moment." It said.

After a few minutes, the door was opened with great flourish. The postman peered nervously inside. It was a shadowy entrance hall, empty.

"Put the package just inside the door and leave." The command boomed from all around the foyer.

"Sir, you need to sign for this-"

"Put it down."

"Sir, you also need to pay-"

"I said put it down!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but-"

"For God's sake man, put the damn thing down and get the hell out of here!"

The postman paused, suprised. He was not used to bodiless voices swearing. At least not in English.

"You at least have to acknowledge that you are, in fact, Mister Voldemort Voldemort."

"Fleeting postman," the voice boomed, "if you insist on this manner of behavior, I will be forced to release the hounds."

"Ha." The postman scoffed. "I'm wearing carpet padding all over. Your dogs can't scare me."

"Foolish man…" hissed the voice, "You don't know what kind of breed I have."

"…What kind?"

"Toy Chihuahuas."

The postman paled. "Are those the ones…"

"That fly with their ears? Yes."

"And can…"

"Shatter glass within a five mile radius? …Yes."

"You wouldn't." the postman narrowed his eyes.

"Oh," the voice whispered. "I would."

The postman set the package down, defeated. His own grandfather had lost all his hearing to toy Chihuahuas. It wasn't worth it.

"Good postman." The voice soothed. "Now leave, and don't look back."

Slowly, the postman backed out of the manor, off the porch, turned and ran.

The voice cackled. "That's right, feeble UPS man! Run! And see if you can go faster than my toy Chihuahuas!"

Some may think that releasing squeaking Chihuahuas on a poor postman is the extent of any evil. But oh, no. Lord Voldemorts went further. And would reach even greater lengths because of the contents of that package.

AN: Well, it was short, but hey. It's only a prologue. If I get good vibes, I'll continue. If not, it'll just stay as a really random one-shot.

My extended disclaimer: I don't own the breed of Chihuahua, UPS (don't ask me why the UPS is in Britain) or ominous voices.

ginny


	2. Booting Up, Or Trying To

Well, I got some cool reviews, so the story's moving on. This one is still sort of like a prologue, except more in depth.

DC: I especially don't own any sort of Mac or PC franchise. Even if I do suck up a little to Apple.

Let it begin!

The package was small. Barely the size of a notebook. And yet, Voldemort thought as he stroked the cardboard, it would hold his domination.

_Yeah_, the little voice inside his head said,_ just like your diary was your domination, and that rock, and the potion thing, and the prophecy._

Voldemort glared irritably at his forehead. Stupid conscience. He though he'd killed it years ago.

There was the sound of a heavy implement colliding with another object from inside the Dark Lords head. And then a thump. The conscience fell silent.

Voldemort went back to stroking his box. He continued to stroke it… and stroke it… and stroke it. Perhaps it would've made more since to open it immediately, instead of sitting around waiting for Harry Potter to come barging in with his "love", but savoring the moment was all part of evil schemes. You couldn't just execute them, oh no.

Eventually, Voldemort grabbed his wand, looked at it, threw it over his shoulder, and grabbed the scissors.

"Ow!" cried Snape as a bit of wood struck him in the eye, forcing him to drop his tea.

Voldemort, completely oblivious to the semi-blindness he had just caused, began delicately cutting through the tape. Slowly, the box was opened, the two flaps spread wide, and in shinning glory that lit Voldemort's face like car headlights would a stop sign, the Dark Lord lifted up his ultimate weapon, brought to him straight from Sheng-Hi.

It was PC notebook.

Voldemort flipped it open and hit the on switch triumphantly. Nothing happened. He hit again, more forcefully. Again the screen remained indifferently black.

"Minion – I mean, Snape!" Voldemort shouted into the kitched behind him. "My secret weapon won't turn on!"

"Well, your Lordship…" Snape said, rubbing his eye. "It seems like you've ordered a Windows PC."

"… Which means what? Politically Correct? Polycarbonate? Populace Control?"

"No, your Lordship. It means Personal Computer."

"Ah. How does it work?"

"With Vista, apparently."

Voldemort squinted at his Death Eater. "How do you know all about this sort of thing?"

"It's all over the TVs in the town, sir. The commercials… 'Ello, I'm a Mac'. Haven't you seen those?"

The Dark Lord squinted suspiciously. "No I haven't. What's a Mac?"

"It's another computer, sir."

"These muggles really do complicate life, don't they?"

Snape was getting rather bored of the conversation. "They do sir. And if you don't mind, I've got some tea on, so I'll just be going…"

He left Voldemort still pressing the on button.

In the dinning room, out of earshot of Voldemort, Snape joined with the other relaxing Death Eaters.

"Anyone know how Crazy Lord got his hands on technology?" he said as he entered.

Lucius shrugged. "Maybe he decided it's the only thing he hasn't tried."

"I wonder if it'll actually work."

"I doubt it. We always lose."

"Well with _that_ attitude, we will."

"The point is, we've just handed a man who's completely evil, but is trying to turn the laptop on by pummeling the space bar, a computer. What does this mean for the world?"

"As long as we're okay," Bellatrix interjected, "I don't really care."

The other Death Eaters nodded in agreement. It was a good point.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Harry turned the small mental thing over in his hands. "What is it?" he asked wondrously.

Hermione sighed. "It's and iPod, Harry. We've been over this."

"But what do you _do_ with it?"

"Listen to music."

"Oh." Harry looked at the blank screen. "_Weird Sisters, Do The Hippogryph!_" he shouted clearly.

Ron groaned. Even _he _had been able to grasp the simple concept of electronically charged silicon implants. Surely Harry could.

Hermione pulled the iPod out of Harry's hand, for fear of everyone's eardrums. "Ron, go get the iBook. We need to teach Harry how to use iTunes."

Gravely, Ron rose from his chair and left the room.

"Man." Harry muttered. "These people need more creative names… iTunes, iPods, iBooks…"

"It's the 21st generation. You'll get used to it. Now to access the main menu, press _menu_." Hermione demonstrated. "And to pick your songs, press the center button… Do you follow?"

AN: Well that was fun. I hope to do a lot more with the Mac vs. PC, later on. I love those commercials.

ginny


	3. Technology Sucks

Due to the gratifying waves of reviews (thank you,) I have typed up yet another installment! Cheers

DC: I actually sort of like Avril Lavigne. Sort of. Anyways, I defiantly don't own her. Or whatever stupid connection you can make in this fic just for the sake of legal action.

Leer! (Pronounced "leh AIR". Congrats, you are now bilingual.)

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The secret weapon hummed. Voldemort leaned back contentedly in his chair. He'd gone out and bought a huge office furniture set from Office Depot, some new power cables, a power _source_, and these neat little stickers for his laptop, that said things like "Bling bling!" and "Pimp'n" He had no idea what they were, but they sounded cool. Anything that was "pimp'n" _had_ to be worthy of the Dark Lord.

Now it was time to begin with the plan. He had cleverly named it "Operation Destroy That Potter Kid For Once And For All." There was even an acronym: ODTPKFOAFA, and an anagram: PAT OF OK FAD. It was genius.

Currently, he was tedioiusly clearing the system of all the trial things that came with his computer. It was worth it though. With this little baby, he could take the muggle world down.

_Isn't ironic that you're using a muggle device to destroy the muggles?_

The blasted conscience had woken up again. Voldemort cranked up the radio in his head, and the little voice was drowned out by Avril Lavigne's Girlfriend. Humming along, Voldemort waited patiently.

The computer binged. The Dark Lord smiled. He loved that bing. It felt as though it was cleansing the torn, bloodied, and rather dingy bits of his soul that were left.

He sat back up and opened his Internet service. It had been a stretch, but finally, after a few angry phone calls to IT; the signal had been able to penetrate the unrelenting evil that filled Malfoy Manor.

Slowly working his way through Yahoo!, he found the _compose_ button. Maniacally, he clicked it.

_To__: The Potter Kid_

_From__: The Pimp'n Dark Lord_

_Subject__: Take this, loser!_

It was so simple, one-click, hassle free! He should've tried this years ago!

Hmm… What was that blank box below the Subject title? Nothing important, otherwise they would've labeled it.

Gleefully, Voldemort hit _send_. He squeezed his eyes shut, to savor the feeling of a job well done. Then he opened his eyes, to continue with the plan.

A rather dismaying screen greeted him.

"Snape!" he yelled, "What the hell does this mean?"

Stiffly, Snape entered the room. "Yes, my Lord?"

Voldemort stared at the Death Eater. "I already asked the question!"

Snape, who was trying to make some tea, was not in the best of moods. "Then repeat it. My lord."

"What the hell does this mean?"

Behind his back, where the Dark Lord couldn't see, Snape wrung the folds of his robe. The tea was going to be over-steeped. Carefully, he leaned close to the monitor. "It says you can't send that email."

"Why?"

"You don't have an account on Yahoo!, or any where else."

"But it still let me _write_ the email!"

"I know sir. It's wacked out."

Voldemort looked at his minion. "Wacked out? When have you ever said 'wacked out' before in your life?"

"I don't know sir." There was a high-pitched whistle from the kitchen. "But if you'll excuse me again, I have some Earl Grey going, and I'd rather it not become Earl Black."

"Very well, Snape." Voldemort grumbled. "Go tend your 'tea'"

Snape sped out of the room.

Voldemort looked at the screen. He supposed he should set up an email account, so all this effort would be worth it, but suddenly a more pressing matter presented itself. He picked up the phone.

"Yes, operator? Connect me with Stickers R Us."

He waited and listened to Avril break out in chorus.

"Hello, Stickers R Us? Yes, I'd like to place a request…. Five gold stickers saying 'Wacked Out'… M-hmm… Oh, and if you make thousands upon millions of dollars off this slogan, please credit Mister Voldemort Voldemort. Yes, that's the name… They'll be here within six to eight weeks? Excellent."

He hung up. A wicked smile lit his features. Plagiarism. The ultimate crime. Plus he'd have another quirky sticker for his laptop.

Switching back to PAT OF OK FAD, he selected that peppy button that said "Sign up now!" Oh, he though as he entered his name, he'd sign up all right. He'd sign up.

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

"_Please Harry._" Ron moaned. "Just try another email address and _move on_."

"But how could 'harripotterboi' already be taken? I'm the only Harry Potter in the world!" Harry glared at the iBook's screen.

"We know that," Hermione said exasperatedly, "But it seems someone else in this world of 6.5 billion people has it, so you need to think of something else!"

Harry grumbled. He didn't see why he had to learn to use a computer. It's not like Voldemort was going to use one, so why should he? All they did was complicate things. The iPod's cord kept getting tangled up, and this iBook had a "server error". Why the computer need a servant, he couldn't fathom. And where was the "sever" anyways? Technology was awfully suspicious.

"How 'bout 'golden#snitch#uk'?" Ron suggested.

"Or 'angsty-wizard-teen'?" Hermione said.

Harry shook his head. "Those don't describe me at all. Especially that last one." He added.

The trio sat in silence. Eventually Ron and Hermione gave up. "We'll be at Hargrid's." Ron said. They left.

Outside, Hermione almost ripped her hair out. "How #$ing hard could it #$ing _be_?!" she yelled, "He's like an old person! My _parents_ can operate a computer better than him!"

"_My_ parents can operate a computer better than him." Ron said darkly.

The two shivered at the though of Mr. Weasly using a computer.

"I wonder what he's doing now…" Hermione pondered as they trooped across the grounds.

"God only knows…" Ron rolled his eyes.

Upstairs, in the common room, Harry was surfing the Internet. "Omigod!" he cried suddenly. "Porn site!"

Every girl within earshot ran over, formed a line, and took turns slapping him. It was quite coincidental that the same thing was happening at Malfoy Manor, except it was just Bellatrix and Narcissa taking turns.

The whole point of this installment is to get email accounts set up. Which they did, after a number of people gave up on both Harry and Voldemort, for being hopeless.

AN: Well, I tried. I really did. Maybe it's longer, maybe it's not. But the next chapie will be up soon.

ginny


	4. Spam: The Ultimate Weapon

Alright! I'm on a role! But just to warn all those readers out there who are thinking "this is great! An author that updates three times a day!" I have some rather depressing news. I don't actually update all the time. I just happen to have no life what so ever tonight. However, one of my "News Years Resolutions With My Fingers Crossed Behind My Back" is to update more often.

DC[see previous disclaimers, as I'm too lazy to try and think up another attempted witty one.

Lu! (Which is French. Way to go, you're all trilingual now.)

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The UPS inched up the street toward Malfoy Manor. Then a worried face peered out the open window. Glancing around, the postman unlocked the door, leapt out, and scurried up the front door.

Franticly, he pummeled the doorbell. Sweat beaded on his face.

An eye appeared at the peephole. "Yessss?"

"Here." The postman held out another package shakily. "Take it. Quickly."

"One moment."

The eye vanished. On the verge of a nervous breakdown, the postman waited.

Again the door was opened wide to the same empty foyer.

"Put the package down." Boomed the mysterious voice.

Twitching slightly, the postman set it down. "I don't _want_ to ask you for your signature, but-"

"NO."

"Alrightly then." The postman squeaked. "I'll just be on my merry way. No need to get the Toy Chihuahuas…"

The voice cackled. "To late! Right now my faithful minion is releasing the – What? No, Snape, I do not want some tea. Or a biscuit! I'm talking to the UPS muggle right now-" The voice went further away, in a muffled argument.

There was a sigh. "Foolish postman, please amuse yourself for a moment while I sort this out." Some shuffling could be heard, and then Avril Lavigne began playing, echoing through the entrance hall. The postman stood tensing up with every curse word, his bulging eyes swiveling around the foyer.

_Complicated_ had just begun when the voice returned. "Okay. Sorry about that. Where were we?"

"The faithful minion bit…" the postman quavered.

"Ah yes. Well, right now my faithful minion is extinguishing all of his biscuits that I have set on fire, so the Toy Chihuahuas are going to remain in their cage for now. So leave this house!... And I'd do something about that breathing problem you seem to have."

The postman turned rigidly, taking shallow restricted breaths. He walked mechanically through the door, down the walk and to his UPS truck. He got in, put his seatbelt on, and closed the door.

He turned the key in the ignition.

There was a loud screech, and the smell of burning rubber.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Voldemort stroked the package. It was a very nice package. The tree pulp was especially smooth.

After he had completely eroded the box away, he grabbed the scissors, looked at them and realized they were useless, since all that remained of the cardboard was a pile of fine dust. He threw them over his shoulder, and grabbed his wand.

"Holy mother of-!" Snape cried as a pair of scissors hurtled towards his face, forcing him to trip and spill boiling tea all over his person.

Unaware, Voldemort examined his wand. "Why do I need _this_?" he wondered aloud. Coming to the decision that he didn't, he threw it over his shoulder as well.

"Son of a -!" Snape shouted as a pointy bit of wood hit him in the temple as he tried to stand up and pull the bloodied scissors out of himself, effectively knocking him out.

Voldemort hummed a little tune as he peeled the wax paper of the sticker. He proudly smoothed the gold sparkly letters "Wacked up" onto his now blindingly bright laptop. Grinning as _Happy Ending_ came on, he flipped the screen open and watched it load up.

Five minutes later, his grin slipping, he waited for the PC to load.

Ten minutes later, the bar went up to one percent.

Thirty minutes later, Snape began to regain semi-consciousness.

Finally, exactly two hours, forty-eight minutes and seventeen seconds later, the load bar flicked up to 100 percent.

"Gee, folks!" Voldemort turned to the studio audience. "Wasn't that quick?" He plastered on a huge smile, and gave the thumbs up. With his grin still fixed, he managed through clenched teeth, "_You'd better pay up big, Gates._"

"_Not now!_"

With the tech crews rebuilding the fourth wall, Voldemort opened his new email account.

_To__: Potter Kid_

_From__: pimpndrklord_

_Subject__: NOW cower, loser!_

Voldemort allowed himself a cackle, hit send, and began another message.

_To__: Potter Kid_

_From__: pimpndrklord_

_Subject__: Are you cowering yet? You should be!_

This went on all night. Yes. The Dark Lord was sending spam.

At 11 pm, Bellatrix turned off the lights.

At 1 am, Lucius got up to watch _Will and Grace_.

At 3 am, Narcissa got up to eat some charred biscuit.

At 6 am, Snape slowly peeled himself off the kitchen floor, and stumbled over to his broken teapot, sobbing.

At 9 am, the Death Eaters turned up, to discuss their leader's obsession with sending over 800 handwritten spam emails.

Finally, at 1 pm, Voldemort emerged from his lair, tired, but woozily satisfied. He proceeded to collapse on the couch.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Hermione!" Harry screeched.

"Yes… Harry?"

"Some guy named 'pimpndrklord' just emailed me 800 times. What do I do?"

"Well…Harry…." Hermione came over. "You check this box…" Suddenly, all the messages were selected. "And you hit this button." She clicked _Spam_. All the emails vanished.

"Huh. Harry, I think that's Voldemort." Ron said.

"Really?" Harry looked at the screen. "Wow. Defeating him with technology is a lot easier! Just too clicks."

"Yes! Harry that's what we've been trying to tell you!" Hermione cried, "Technology makes your life easier!"

Harry raised his face towards the heavens. "I guess it really does," he whispered. "Suddenly, I have meaning in life!"

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

Voldemort realized how easily he had been foiled. He vowed revenge. Again.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: Man. I tired. If you'll excuse me, I have to go submerge my fingers in ice now… (And for the record, this is not the end. There is more. Much more.)


	5. PopUp Ads Are Inspirations

So we're back, the very next day! I feel accomplished! I've got nothing else to say, except thanks to all those reviewers, and I hope you're enjoying the story!

DC: The lawsuit from Avril Lavigne's agent should be coming any day now. To avoid such awkward situations, I am disclaiming her songs. And Mac. And PC. Although Mac should be thanking me, as I'm totally slipping subliminal mind messages into this fic. I mean, look at the title!

Oh yes. I also don't own Voldemort, Harry Potter, etc. It's so easy to forget about those sorts of things.

Lees! (Dutch. Goooo polyglots!)

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Voldemort was still in shock by the next day. The fact that the Potter kid had defeated him without even trying, while nothing new, was still disheartening. He spent the morning glaring at his wonderful technology, questioning how it could've betrayed him like this.

"Good news, my lord!" Bellatrix said brightly, "We're getting a big screen TV today!"

"Oh, well that's just _grand_." Voldemort said sarcastically, "Haven't you caught on, Bellatrix? All those muggle things, they're hollow. They look great, but once you get to know them…" he shot the laptop an icy look.

Bellatirx shrugged. "Whatever." She said, and went into the lounge to watch her new wide screen.

Sniffling slightly in self-pity, the Dark Lord could hear the TV click on. He heard Snape yelling to go the Cooking Channel (Martha Stewart was on,) and then the other Death Eaters ultimately deciding on Friends, during a commercial break.

"Hello! I'm a Mac!"

"And I'm a PC!"

Voldemort sat bolt upright. He jumped off the couch and sprinted into the lounge. Panting, he saw a personified Mac and PC being displayed in Hi-Def glory.

"What are they talking about?!" This could be the answer a way to beat Potter's stupid MacBook. The PC always won, right?

"Well," Lucius said, "there's the Mac," he pointed to the young, relaxed man, "and that's the PC." He motioned towards the old geezer in a suit. Voldemort felt his hopes drop a notch or two.

"And right now, PC is trying to prove that you can display a family holiday with a pie chart, rather than say a photo album."

"And surely PC is completely killing Mac's argument?"

"Well, no. See the PC is making an utter fool of himself, and Mac is advertising for iLife."

"iLife…" Voldemort whispered. "It's like an angel's name…."

Lucius coughed. "Sure, my lord. But if you could keep it down, I want to see what happens to Rachael and Monica."

Feeling unwanted, Voldemort left his minions to their petty TV show, and went to his trusty telephone. Old Phone would never betray him. It wasn't technology.

"Hello, I'd like to order iLife… What kind of Mac do I have?" Voldemort repeated. "What is _that_ supposed to mean? I have to have a Mac to 'operate' iLife? Well that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of! Good sir, you have just lost one fine paying customer!" Furious, the Dark Lord slammed the receiver back on the hook.

"The nerve…" he muttered. Now his life really _was_ lost. There was no other solution… He'd have to throw in the towel. Sadly, he opened his laptop, preparing to shut it down once and for all…

When a pop-up ad appeared.

That little ad filled him with hope. For it said: This is not a joke! You have just won a free MP3 player! Click here, to collect it!

Voldemort, in all contradiction to his manliness, squealed and clicked. And against all odds, he actually _got _the MP3 player promised to him.

Wondering how many other free items were available over the web, Voldemort began obsessively surfing it, checking all the flashing ads. Slowly, another plan, this one more devious, this one more evil, this one _much_ more convoluted, formed in his mind. The torn, bloodied, and rather dingy bits of his soul left danced with glee.

The Pimp'n Dark Lord was going to take the Potter kid down. Below sea level. Burn.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Um, iLife?" Harry looked at the program CD. "What does it do?"

"You can make videos, Harry!" Hermoine said.

"And post them on YouTube!" Ron added.

"Thanks guys! Here, I even got you a [insert holiday of choice here present!" 

Ron and Hermione's faces fell slightly. Two rolls of parchment, and two new quills wrapped in a bow presented themselves.

"It's… great, Harry." Hermione managed.

"What? You don't like them do you? I should've gotten the colored ink…"

"No, mate, it's just that, well, we were hoping to get some sort of computer. At least a USB jump drive…"

"Oh." Harry looked at the gifts. He had spent so long picking them out too… "Well, I'm sure that new printer will at least take the parchment!" He said. "Let's go try it!" He bounced up and over to the computer

Ron groaned. Hermione covered her face. Harry still hadn't learned about printing stock, even _after_ the toilet paper incident.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

A small toy car, with a long antennae, zipped up the driveway to Malfoy Manor. A UPS sticker had hastily been slapped on the side, and another package was strapped to the roof.

It ran into the door.

"Damn!" hissed the postman through the walkie-talkie glued to the windshield.

"Come – on." He muttered, continuously ramming the little car. The front bender fell off.

Still cursing, the postman dodged out from the behind some of the neighbor's bushes, sprinted up to the door, hit the doorbell, and scrambled back to cover.

The eye glanced out its peephole. "Yess – What the?"

There was a thump as the car yet again ran into the door.

Uneasily, the eye said, "Um… one moment…"

The doors flew wide.

"Put the package down." The voice boomed.

"If someone could just come take it off," the postman crackled through the radio.

"What? Foolish UPS man!"

"Well there's no way I'm coming back up there in person."

"Fine…." Grumbled the voice. "Snape, put your #$#$ing teapot down, and go get this package!"

Another muffled argument.

"- I don't care about your stupid 'Irish Blend' - "

More indistinguishable voices. The postman practiced doing donuts around the foyer.

When the voice returned, it sounded very ticked off. "My minion insists that he his in the very delicate stages of gluing his #$#$ing teapot back together for his #$#$ing 'Irish Blend'." It was possible to imagine the voice doing the quotations marks around his head.

"So please just driver up the stairs, and take a the first left."

"What? Are you mad?" the postman demanded, "I spent 10 pounds on this thing!"

"I'm sorry sir." The voice said woodenly. " But my time is ticking away, so if you could just get over this incessant whining… Did I mention the toy Chihuahua cage is remote activated now?"

The neighbor's bushes screamed. And suddenly they seemed a lot emptier.

Upstairs, the Dark Lord cackled. Suddenly he began to wheeze, cough and choke.

"I'd fix you up a nice hot cup of tea," Snape shouted obnoxiously from the kitchen, "but sadly, my teapot is broken, because _**some**__body _was just chucking around the scissors. Maybe," the Death Eater entered the room, with his greasy hair slightly matted with blood, and a hot glue trailing from his fingers, "you'd like a blackened biscuit?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: This is fun. Not for Snape though.


	6. Bellina, the Camera

Thank you so much for all those great reviewers out there! You shall not burn in hell!

I'm just happy that this story that I've started writing not three days ago is such a success. Hopefully it'll continue to be as funny as you guys like it to be.

DC: I _especially _do not own Potter Puppet Pals. Or Italy. Or Harrods.

Colto! (Italian)

………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was a video camera. As Voldemort blew away the coating of cardboard dust, he could see it's spectacular modeling. He stroked it gently. Now, that Potter kid would die.

"Sir," Snape entered the room, wearing a flowery apron and holding a tray of tarts, still steaming from the oven, "Narcissa and I are going into the Harrods in town. We seem to be running low our Oolong Spice Mix, and you know I need that to wake up in the morning."

Voldemort glared at him icily. "Snape, _we_ need_ you_, if my plot is going to work."

"I'm sure it won't take long. I'll just put these strawberry tarts away and be gone for a little less than an hour."

"I – You – Oh, fine." The Dark Lord amended, even though Snape and Narcissa were already out the front door. "I suppose the Potter kid will be able to live another hour or two."

Impatient, Voldemort decided to pace as he waited for them to return. After a few minutes, he had to sit down to rest his legs.

The video camera was taunting him. _Pick me up!_ The little voice said, _Hold me! Love me! Show me attention! Show me you care! Listen to me – _

Wait a second. That sounded like the ruddy conscience again. Didn't those things ever die? Voldemort looked into his mind. It was a one-room ranch. The conscience had fallen into the latrine. _Please! Get me out of here!_

You wish!

_But if you don't you'll do something really stupid!_

The Pimp'n Dark Lord is never stupid.

_No, wait - !_

But Voldemort had already cranked Sk8er Boi so high that his physical skull was vibrating slightly.

Now… He turned toward the video camera. "Where were we?"

_Ooh, an uomo squisto! Gradisco!_[Ooh, a delicious man! I like!The camera giggled.

A breathy Italian. Life was sweet. "I want to pick you up, but I know I shouldn't."

_Aw, per favore, signore? _[Aw, please, sir?

"Well… You're awfully cute… But I know if I do, I'll break you, and Snape won't be able to help me."

_Non potrebbe aiutarlo comunque… Ma posso. _[He can't help you anyways… but _I_ can.

Voldemort looked decisively around the room. "You're right, Breathy Italian Video Camera! That idiot Snape doesn't know a thing about technology anyways."

_Esattamente! Cosí eliminilo, voi equipaggiano la caramella! _[Exactly! So take me away, you hunk of man candy!

"Yes!" cried Voldemort. He snatched the camera, and held it triumphantly up.

It crumbled into assorted electronic pieces. Each part fell unusually slowly, one at a time, towards the ground.

"_Nooooo! Bellina!!!" _Voldemort hit the floor sobbing, as the remains of his one and only girlfriend crashed to the unforgiving rug. Beneath which lay two feet of granite.

_Il mio… soltanto… amore… Nonlo dimentichi… mai… _[My… only…. Love… Never forget… me…

She was gone.

A little less that an hour later, Snape and Narcissa entered the room to find a pitiful sight. Voldemort wearing a black veil, and still weeping quietly over Bellina's broken remains. He looked up at them, his face tear stained, and said, "We'll be holding the cremation ceremony in an hour…"

Simultaneously, Snape and Narcissa turned, erased what they had just seen out of their memories, and proceeded to the TV room.

Eventually the wailing got to be too much, and because Lucius couldn't concentrate on Ross and Emily, he sent Snape into Voldemort's lair to sort things out.

"My lord." Snape said flatly. "Can I help you?"

"Yes!" sobbed Voldemort. "Bring back Bellina! She's all I have left now!" 

Snape stood there. He sighed. And rolled his eyes. Then he went over the cat-sized coffin, reached in and pulled out a completely flawless camera.

"Done. Can I go now?"

"wefhiojgoinlskdfjsdiojsd-" Voldemort said

"I'll take that as a yes."

"kjdfknkdfieoiewnkj!"

"I'll be downstairs."

"nbowiejkndkckasj…."

"Thank you, sir."

Snape left.

"How… how do you feel, my love?" Voldemort asked the camera.

_Benissimo. A proposito, ho venduto la mia anima il diavolo mentre ero guasto. Spiacented._ [Fine. By the way, I sold my soul to the devil while I was dead. Sorry.

"What does that mean for us?"

_Mezzi che I ho truffato su voi._ [It means I cheated on you.

Voldemort was frozen in mortified shock.

_Ottenga sopra esso._ [Get over it.

"Well." Voldemort said stiffly. "I guess we'll just have to set aside our difference, so we can get our job done. After that," he sniffed, "I'm leaving you."

_Benissimo!_ [Fine!

"Fine!"

The two waited in stony silence. Snape unwillingly opened the door. "I believe you had plans involving me? My… lord."

"Yes I do. If you'll tell Bellina to turn on, we can begin."

Internally, Snape began beating himself over the head. This would not be a fun adventure.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Harry read the title. It was suspicious. Although, like Hermione said, there _were_ 6.5 billion people in the world, so it wasn't like it was _completely_ unlikely.

"Hey, Harry!" Ron came up behind him. "What'cha lookn' at?"

"Potter Puppet Pals. On YouTube."

Ron unattractively scrunched his face up. "Potter Puppet Pals? What, are there some other Potter's in the world?"

"I guess. Shall we see what it is?"

"Sure."

Harry clicked the _play_.

The two watched agape.

"Wow…" Ron said when it had finished.

"No way…" Harry agreed.

"That was really coincidental!" they exclaimed together.

"Who would've though there would be _two _Harry Potters in the world, that looked _exactly the same!_"

"Or _two_ Dumbledores, and _two _Snapes with greasy hair!"

"At least there's not a Hermione, other wise that would be really freaky!" 

The boys laughed, because the clip of animated characters bothering Snape was just too funny, and after all, it was just a coincidence.

"Hey…" Harry said, scrolling through the other PPP videos, "here's another one!"

If Hermione had been there, she would've immediately recognized the person who posted it to be "pimpndrklord" and stopped Harry from viewing it. But because Hermione was off being smart somewhere else, the mouse hovered over the clip, and clicked it.

Wherever Malfoy Manor was, Voldemort was laughed gleefully. His plan was activated!

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: Okay, I apologize to all the readers who can read Italian. If the grammar/vocabulary was so horribly off that you had to look away for a few moments, I apologize. Sincerely.


	7. YouTube Is A'Calling

He he. This is one of my favorites. Writing obsessive heroes with "saving people things" is always fun. Enjoy!

DC: This installment's franchise is… The Friends theme song! (Which I technically _do_ own. I bought it off iTunes.)

Gelesen! (German.)

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Enter: SIRIUS BLACK

SIRIUS BLACK: Ow!

Enter: PIMP'N DARK LORD

PIMP'N DARK LORD: Ha ha! You shall suffer, and there will be no one to save you!

SIRIUS BLACK: Nooooooooooooooooooooo!

PIMP'N DARK LORD: Ha ha!

BLACKOUT

Harry and Ron stared at the screen. The clip ended.

"Oh… My…" Harry began.

"God." Ron finished for him.

"Actually I was going to say _#$#$ing_ God."

"Still." Ron shook his head. "That was pretty lame…"

"Lame?" Harry exploded, " We have to go save him! Sirius is in danger!"

"Um, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Sirius is already dead."

"So?"

"'So?'?!" That's obviously a fake!" Ron squinted at the monitor. "By 'pimpndrklord'!"

"But Sirius is in trouble!" 

Ron stared at his friend in disbelief. "Harry, I just explained to you, _that's not Sirius!_"

Blankly, Harry said, "I don't follow."

Ron allowed himself one twitch of the eye before rewinding the clip to the beginning. "Look. First tip-off:" he pointed. "A little sign that says 'Lair, sweet lair, Malfoy Manor.'"

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Second tip-off: That's Snape with black magic marker drawn all over his face for facial hair."

Harry made the "so what?" face.

"Third tip-off: I can see a tea pot just in the bottom right corner. With hot glue all over it."

"Ron, I don't really see where this is all going."

"_Fourth tip-off_: If you play it, you can hear the Friends theme song in the background." Ron replayed it. The two leaned in closer.

Enter: SIRIUS BLACK

_So no one told you life was gonna be this way (clap clap clap clap)_

SIRUS BLACK: _Your jobs a joke, your broke _Ow!

Enter: PIMP'N DARK LORD

_Well it hasn't been your day, you week, your month or even your yeaaaaar, but,_

PIMP'N DARK LORD: _I'll be there for you_ Ha ha! _When the rain starts to pour _You shall suffer, and _I'll be there for you _there will be no one to _'cause you're there for me tooooo _save you!

SIRIUS BLACK: Nooo _You're still in bed at ten, the work began at eight_oooooooooo!

PIMP'N DARK LORD: Ha _so far things are going great _ha!

_You're mother warned you there'd be days like these,_

BLACKOUT

"Stop making up facts, Ron. I need to get to Malfoy Manor and save Sirius!" Harry stood valiantly.

"Please, Harry." Ron begged, "Don't you think it's a little suspicious that they gave you the place directly, and posted it online?"

"Psht. No."

"Well," Ron said bravely, standing beside his friend, "if you're going to risk your life for a completely useless cause, at least take the iBook. It should be of some use."

"Normally, Ron, I would completely ignore you're request, but because a thestral ate my wand, and I need some sort of weapon, I'll listen, for once in my heroic life."

"Harry," Ron said, looking at his friend with pure awe, "that's the most honest thing you've ever said to me!"

"I know." Harry clapped his best friend on the shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some Dark Lord butt to kick."

And he left on another great adventure. Ron flicked away a tear.

"#$#$!" Hermione barreled into the common room. "Why'd you let him take the laptop? I need that for my fanficion!"

"I have insurance," Ron assured her. "If Harry dies, and it's lost forever, we'll be able to buy another one. With Leopard."

"Thank God," Hermione muttered. "I can't imagine going back to actual _books_ again."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: Well that took a while. You may say "What? That miniature!" Oh, contraire, my beloved reader. It took _forever_ to find the lyrics the Friends theme song and format the screenplay.


	8. Snape, The Method Actor

This one's kind of short, so here's a fun little story. This story actually was _inspired_ by my other Voldy fic, Don't Ask. Originally, the Mac commercial was going to be part of Don't Ask, and Don't Ask would've been a little longer. Than I pictured Harry using a Mac, and Voldemort using a PC, and _bam_. I pulled it out of Don't Ask and iVoldy was born.

Yup. That's the most exciting thing about my life.

DC: The only commercial thing mentioned (a lot) is Harry Potter himself! Woot! This'll be the shortest yet: I don't own Harry Potter… That was so quick and easy! Wow!

Okay, I'm done. Lido! (Portugese)

Harry crouched behind some bushes. In front of him was Malfoy Manor, the place of all evils, and the black hole of color. Above the manor, the private thunderhead crackled, while on all the surrounding properties were bathed in buttery sunlight. A bunny hopped across the street, holding a bundle of flowers. Suddenly, as it crossed the sidewalk, and it's fur turned gray. The flowers shriveled and fell off their stems. The bunny looked at Harry with red eyes, barred its fangs, and unfolding its leathery bat wings, flew over the manor, hissing foam.

How badly does Sirius _really_ need to be saved, Harry wondered, as he watched the bunny take on a defenseless wolverine. Surely he can get out just fine by himself?

No, he contradicted himself firmly, he needs you!

Harry stepped out from the bushes and up to the front door. He rang the doorbell. It sounded like _Keep Holding On_.

"Yessss?" An eye asked as it appeared at the peephole.

"Hi, I'm here to rescue my previously deceased godfather. I believe your master is torturing him?"

"Ah yessss. Do, come in."

The door creaked open. There was no one waiting for him in the entrance hall. Harry thought this was rather rude. He whipped his feet and stepped in. The door closed behind him.

"So… That Potter kid." A voice snickered. It sounded as though it was coming from all around. "Come for your beloved godfather?"

"Yes!" Harry said bravely, "As I already told your butler!"

"Well face the truth, boy, _here _is your 'godfather'!" With a flourish that almost didn't seem possible because it was only a voice, a man walked into the room.

"Sirius!" Harry cried happily, running over and embracing him. "I'm so glad you're okay!" 

Snape with magic marker all over his face grimaced. "I – love – you – Har - ry – my - brave – god - son."

"Wait a minute… Sirius never exchanged greetings without our secret handshake!" Harry gasped and stepped back. "You phoney! Who are you really?"

"Non – sense – boy. I – am – your – love - ing – god – fath - er."

But Harry had already kicked Snape hard, run out the door, and stopped, panting, at the curb.

"_Stop him, minions!_" Voldemort screeched

"Shush!" Lucius shouted from the TV room, "It's Monica, Chandler, and Ross!" 

"Run after him, fools!"

Snape promptly collapsed onto the floor. Bellatrix and Narcissa leapt up to chase after Harry. They were five feet away when Harry, realizing he couldn't Apperate, held his hand out over the street.

"_Get him!!!_"

But it was too late. Just as Bellatrix made a swipe for his robes, a yellow taxicab swooped by picked him up, and zoomed off.

Dejectedly, the two Death Eaters returned to the house.

They stood in the door, as Snape moaned on the ground, bleeding slightly again, and Lucius cranked the TV up higher, so the uproarious laughter of studio audience echoed around the house.

"I would like," Voldemort said with forced calm, as though he had just done some painful breathing exercises a few moments before, "to have a house meeting."

Bellatrix and Narcissa nodded, and walked quietly to the conference room. Snape began to drag himself using only his arms in the same direction.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord said, composed, "please turn the TV off."

"Just wait until a commercial break-"

"_I said turn that #$#$ing thing off, so turn it #$ing off!_"

The TV turned off.

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

"So it's decided: Lucius will drive Snape to the ER, Bellatrix will scrub Snape's bodily fluids off the floor, and Narcissa will pick up the pizzas."

Everyone looked around, nodding in agreement. Snape made a gagging noise, for affirmation.

"Alright, people! Now that we've understood how to execute good plans, gone over the next one clearly, lined it up with the TV schedule," Voldemort shot Lucius a glare, "and covered what we're going to do in an effort to make up for the last one's flukes, we can break!"

The Death Eaters all stood up, except for Snape, who tried but fell off the small cot they had made for him.

"Ooh," Voldemort winced. "Tell the nurse he has a likely fractured skull, along with internal bleeding."

Lucius nodded, picked Snape up, and through him over his shoulder. At the doorway, he turned, smashing Snape's head into the frame.

"Yes, Lucius?"

"Nothing, my lord. Just needed a way to torture Snape for comical reasons a little more."

"Ah. Well, get going. I'm almost positive the bleeding should've stopped by now."

Lucius turned back around, and marched out the door.

Voldemort began to gather his papers. All in all, he reflected it had been a productive meeting. There had been the minor dispute about which show to conform to, but in the end, Lucius had decided Friends was more important than Will and Grace.

Luckily, none of the Death Eaters had caught on to his grand scheme, which was more convoluted. And neither had Harry.

The Dark Lord opened his private blog. It was so much more convenient than a diary.

_Today the Pimp'n Dark Lord did Part One of his super awesome plan. His evil minion stuck a GPS tracker onto that Potter kid during their embrace of "love". Now the Pimp'n Dark Lord shall have insight into that Potter kid's life, and, more importantly, his computer life._

_The Pimp'n Dark Lord is pleased. Very pleased._

He cackled. It was a long cackle. Eventually, Voldemort passed out on the floor, because he ran out of oxygen. But the second he was conscience again, he cackled some more. Then his throat hurt, rather badly, and suddenly he wished Snape wasn't receiving treatment so he could fix up a pot of tea.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: Well, that's that, for now. I must warn you, this is my last day of break, so I can't update as often. Yes, I'm crying too.


	9. Opportunity Dingdong Ditches

I managed to grab some time to write this chapter up. I was quite happy with myself.

Again, thanks to all the wonderful reviewers! May you have good waves this coming year!

DC: Again, I don't own Friends, Will and Grace, or, in this one, Masterpiece Theatre. Woot.

Emerge yourself, as I have run out of languages in my translation site!

………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was a rather large tank. It had green stripes, and at least four automatic machine guns attached. Painted roughly on was the UPS symbol. It turned off the street, and missing the driveway completely, rolled across the lawn.

The hatch popped open. Two men climbed out, dressed alike with black ninja outfits, and several bulges in strategic places that looked like guns.

Then the postman emerged. He held a package carefully. The men stood back to back in front of him, while six more men came out, two holding bazookas and one unclipping a machine gun from the tank.

Defiantly, the postman approached Malfoy Manor, surrounded by his squad of Ninja Secret Service men. Today, he was taking Mister Voldemort Voldemort _down_. His clipboard and pen, always ready, were twitching in anticipation.

The clump of black halted on the porch. One of the Ninja Secret Service men prodded the doorbell with the bazooka's barrel.

"Ye -" Gulp. "- essss?"

"Package" The postman's voice issued from somewhere in the center of the squad.

"One moment…"

The door opened. The postman was getting rather bored with the procedures.

"Put the package down." Said the voice.

"Ha ha! Not so fast, Mister Voldemort Voldemort!"

The voice sounded as though it was squinting slightly. "Have you been working out?"

"No." the postman growled. "That's not the point!"

"M-hmm… Would you like to tell me what _is_ the point?"

"Fine! Theses fine men around me are clearly armed. So unless you come down here and sign this - " He held up his arm so the clipboard could be seen above the sea of guns "- I will be forced to 'exterminate' you" He kicked the man in front of him, which was the signal for all of them to aim their guns randomly at the ceiling and walls.

"Well, that would be great, as the basement's had a this huge problem with mutated cockroaches-"

"Not _that_ kind of exterminate!"

"Oh." The voice considered the word again. "Which kind?"

"The killing you kind! You know," the postman was feeling slightly put out that this wasn't being received with more fear, "blackmail?"

"Oh contraire, my good man, the mail you have for me happens to be a sort of creamy dark brown-"

"NO!" screamed the postman. "You don't get it!"

He burst through the wall of Ninja Secret Service men. His face was a lovely marinara shade.

"I -" the postman pointed to himself, "will shoot -" he grabbed, or rather lugged, the machine gun over and aimed it at the wall in front of him, "you!" He pointed. It was not the regular finger.

"I'm sorry, I really don't see where this is going, so if you could just leave the package here, and I'll get the _**Toy Chihuahua**_ cage, we can move along."

"Ha! You're Chihuahua's don't threaten me! I'm protected!"

"… By who?"

"The -" The postman glanced around.

There was a clattering gun, and a dust ball rolled across the foyer. Some old western music played from the TV room.

"…Guys?" The postman asked, looking around, "Guys? Hello – o…"

There was no answer.

With suddenly knocking knees, the postman grinned weakly. "Now about all this 'extermination' business… Ah ha ha, I was just joking…"

The mysterious voice cackled as the boot inadvertently switched to the other foot. "Too late, fleeting UPS man… Release the hounds!"

The postman cringed, waiting for his days to come to an end.

… Still waiting….

"Damn…" the voice muttered. "Snape's still in the hospital… Lucius!"

Listening intently, the postman heard a distant voice. "What d'you want?"

"Go open the Toy Chihuahua cage!"

"Make Bellatrix."

"Don't you have the remote?"

"Nope. Snape had that. Now shush, Will and Jack are going on a cruise..." The second voice faded away.

When the voice came back on, it was breathing funny. "Postman, seeing as my minion is currently in the ER, and is the only holder of the remote, please just leave the package on the floor and – Where'd he go?"

The foyer was empty, except for the ringing footsteps of a cowardly man, a package, and a clipboard.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Note to the Pimp'n Dark Lord: _Voldemort thought, _It is a bad idea for the Pimp'n Dark Lord to sneeze while eroding the box away._

He was about to call Snape to come clean up all the cardboard dust that had been blown around the roomwith the vacuum, but then he remembered Snape wasn't home.

Sadly, Voldemort dragged himself downstairs.

In the foyer, the Dark Lord first saw the machine gun. It was lit in angelic, pure light, and suddenly a choir of heavenly voices filled the air.

"_Ah ah ah ahhhhhh…._"

Voldemort was momentarily caught up in the awe of miracles, but after a second or two, he shook himself and shouted, "Lucius! What the hell are you doing on Masterpiece Theater?!"

"Nothing, my lord!" Lucius replied hastily, grabbing the remote, "Just an accident!"

"Good! And get that hole in the roof fixed! You know how much I hate sunlight!" 

"Yes, my lord." Lucius grumbled, privately resolving to tell Snape to, as soon as he was released from the hospital.

Shaking his head, Voldemort swept past the machine gun.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Dark Lord sat up in his bed. Next to him, his nifty digital clock glowed _2:35 am_. So Lucius's Friends episode marathon had just started.

Voldemort was positive there was some incredibly important reason he had awoken so suddenly, and thought for quite some time to remember, to no avail.

He went back to sleep.

Again, he woke up, this time remembering. "The machine gun!" he cried. "It's still in the foyer!" Pleased that he had finally recalled the matter, he dropped off again.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: I'm not sure this one is as funny as the others. I had to wring my brain for ideas. But I have some fun things planned, so they should be better!

ginny


	10. And So It Begins, Again

This chapter is longer to make up for the more definite lapse in updates coming up, as I am forced to apply myself to things other than fanfic. But the more reviews I get, the guiltier I feel about not updating, and thus, the more I'll update! (coughcough)

DC: So. We're back here again. I just wonder how all the people who write billions of stories for fanfiction can stand to come up with new ones every time. But, to get it over with, here you go, all you merciless, greedy franchises just waiting to sue an innocent kid for the heck of it: I don't own what you see in here, except for the story, punch lines, and a "caring" Voldy.

"Hypocrite reader – my fellow – my brother!" – Charles Baudelaire. (I'm running out of things to say, so I started taking quotes. This one is on here not because I know/care what it means, but because it has that sort of 'gasping' sense to it, which I am quite fond of.)

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Snape limped to Malfoy Manor on crutches, his IV bag swinging behind him on a little wheeling cart. White bandages encased most of his body.

He hobbled up the steps, anticipating his kitchen, fiddled with his keys, and opened the door.

"Welcome home, Snape!" shouted a chorus a voices from the shadows. They attacked him, wearing party hats, blowing kazoos, and throwing handfuls of confetti into the air.

"Mmph…" Mumbled Snape as he was crushed between the hard floor and the Death Eaters.

"We missed you so much!" Lucius exclaimed as they stood up, revealing a semi-flattened Snape and a leaking IV bag.

"Mmph…"

"Voldemort had _me_ doing all the chores around here! Now that you're home, you can finally fix the hole in the roof he's been complaining about."

"Mmph…"

"Yup! You'd better get on it. The ladder's in the basement, so I'd watch out for the homicidal cockroaches." Lucius checked his watch. "Well, The Simpsons is on, so I'm gonna go make some microwavable popcorn." With that, he bounced away with the other Death Eaters, chattering.

Snape was left twitching on the rug.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Minion!" Voldemort sang, "Please come up here!"

While waiting, he spun himself round and round in his amazing swivel chair. He had bought it off eBay. Apparently, it was one Bill Gates had sat in at a press conference. Hopefully, the PC/Windows genius of the MIT drop-out would rub off. Superstitiously, Voldemort rubbed the arms of his chair.

"Minion! Snape!" he called again, this time less cheerful.

He did a few more spins on his chair.

"Lucius!" Voldemort barked. "Where is Snape? I thought he was back from the hospital!"

"D'oh!"

"… What was that, Lucius?"

"Homer Simpson, my lord."

"Oh. Anyways, where is Snape?"

"Fixing the roof."

"Weren't _you_ supposed to do that?"

"Don't have a cow, man."

"_What did you just say?_"

"That was Bart, my lord. What about the roof?"

"… Never mind, Lucius."

"Ehhh – xcellent…"

Voldemort sat looking at the door for a moment. Then he quickly turned to his private blog. _Note to Pimp'n Dark Lord: The Pimp'n Dark Lord should check the temperature of the fridge, to make sure it is bellow 40 degrees. This will prevent the hallucinations of his Death Eaters in the future.._

Now… He stood up to go get Snape off the roof. The man's first day back and already he was slacking off work.

Downstairs, he found Snape trampled in the foyer.

"Minoin! There you are!"

"Mmph."

"Get back to work! We didn't know how to start a fire, so we've been eating out. Now that you're back, we can have home-cooked meals again!"

"Mmph."

"Don't give me your cheek!" 

"… Mmph."

"I expect a big change in attitude, Mister!" Voldemort swept off, forgetting that the only reason he had left his lair was to ask Snape for some tea.

Troubled, the Dark Lord paced his room, wondering why Snape was being so snippety.

Perhaps some present was in order, as his "released from the hospital" gift. What did he want in life?

The answer hit like a mosquito would a bug zapper. Tea.

Eager to please his one useful minion, mainly because Voldemort didn't want to do any work himself, he surfed the glorious Internet, and found what he was looking for.

Due to plot holes, the package appeared next to the laptop, rather than be delivered by a cowardly mailman. Voldemort squealed and stroked it open.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Snape limped himself to the kitchen. Here was where relaxation lay, with a good, strong cup of green tea and some homemade pastries.

As he looked around, checking that all the mixes were accounted for, he saw a huge chrome contraption taking up the entire counter displaying his collectable tins.

"Isn't it great?" Voldemort appeared only two inches away from his face grinning broadly, so much that the veins on his neck were sticking out.

"Mmph!"

Snape fell over, due to shock, fear, and horror that he couldn't see his 1968 World's Fair Novelty Edition.

Voldemort looked at his fallen minion. "Snape?" he said, bending down, "Snape?"

Snape was curled up into the fetal position.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord called, "come see if Snape's breathing!"

"Why can't you?"

"He might be dead. The Pimp'n Dark Lord does not touch dead people."

Grumbling all the way, Lucius left the TV room and hauled himself to the kitchen.

"No," the Death Eater felt Snape's pulse, "He's alive. But we should probably take him to the hospital again."

Voldemort sighed. "Very well, Lucius. I'd hate to lose my only useful minion."

Completely ignoring the comment, or not even noticing it, Lucius threw Snape over his shoulder and left.

The Dark Lord looked at his automatic tea maker, annoyed that it had been received with near-death, instead of the anticipated cry of joy and shower of thanks.

It was at that moment that for no apparent reason, except to move the story along that Voldemort was struck by a genius idea even more genius than usual.

"The machine gun!" he exclaimed, running back to the foyer. "I can use that to threatened that Potter kid! Brilliant! And this way I don't have to use the GPS tracker that was previously mentioned!"

Lugging the machine gun upstairs, Voldemort reviewed his plan. It was quite simple: Go to Hogwarts, point gun at that Potter Kid. But it was the simplicity that made it so amazing.

Cackling, but quietly so not to irritate his delicate throat tissue, he typed up his plot in his private blog, in the immortal sense of third person.

What he did not see was the small red light issuing from the neglected shadows atop his computer desk.

_Ora li ho, "caramella dell'uomo"… _(I have you now, "hunk of man candy"…) whispered Bellina the Breathy Italian Video Camera.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Hermione!" Harry screeched, but in a singsong fashion.

Hermione and Ron twitched simultaneously. "Yes, Harry?" Hermione managed through cheerily clenched teeth.

"I just got this video in my email…"

"Then watch it, Harry."

"Okay."

Hermione cranked her head mechanically back to her book.

It was the Italian voice that made her look up again. "Is that an international video porn?" she whispered to Ron.

"I don't think so… Lemme listen." Ron cocked his head, trying to hear.

"Since when have _you _ever been fluent in Italian?" Hermione scoffed.

"'_I don't have much time,'_" Ron recited, "_'So listen closely: Your enemy, Voldemort, is planning to use a machine gun on you. Beat him to the punch. Come to Malfoy Manor and take it before he can come to your school.'_"

Hermione looked at him, shocked.

"When did you-"

"Shush!"

But the movie had ended.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Hermione asked seriously.

"Ron must be secretly going to Italy while we're sleeping?"

"NO, Harry. It means we're going to have to go on another traumatic, difficult adventure, and battle Voldemort again."

There was a grim silence.

"Well, if we're going to be off risking our lives _yet again_, I guess I'll try to refund this." Ron sadly held up an Alitalia Airlines ticket.

Harry stuck his tongue out at Hermione.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: I had originally planned to have the transcript for Bellina's video, but there was no way I was going to translate all that into Italian. By the way, I also don't own the Simpson catch phrases.


	11. Script Changes

Hey, good news! The world has not stinted my up-dates! Woot!

Here's another fun little tale: Originally, this was going to be the last chapter. But the reviews were so great, and you guys seemed to like it so much, and one reader (soosha-q) even said "I wish it could go on forever, but I know that's not possible" Well I decided to try and make it a _little _more possible, by extending it more, and adding in a few bonus chaps. So this chapie will lead into an extra set. All for my wonderful reviewers!

DC: Again, I don't Avril Lavigne. And this is the _last_ time I ever use a pop singing sensation continuously in a fanfic. Except for Britney Spears, because she doesn't count. But also I don't own whatever else in here.

"The pen is mightier than the sword!" -Edward George Bulwer Lytton (Favorite quote of all time.)

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Harry, Ron, and Hermione burst through the front door of Malfoy Manor, not even ringing the doorbell, the ultimate act of rudeness. Each brandished their own weapons: Hermione a wand, Ron his recently purchased iPod, and Harry a turnip. This was because he figured that if a thestral ate his weapon, it might as well get good fiber intake too.

"Intruders!" A booming voice announced.

"Give it up, Voldemort!" Harry proclaimed.

"Ha! Make me!"

"I will! Come down here and fight!"

Harry, caught up in the drama, forgot that he was supposed to be disposing of Voldemort's weapon.

"Hold on. Avril just started _When You're Gone_."

The trio waited patiently, glad that Voldemort was polite enough to let them listen in on the song.

When it ended, the Dark Lord appeared in a doorway. "Ready to battle this out, that Potter kid?"

"Whenever you are," Harry replied, jabbing his turnip around.

Voldemort held up his own carrot, raised it above his head and ran at Harry with an ear-splitting battle cry. "_Ayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee – Cha cha cha!_"

The vegetables met with a clash. Harry and Voldemort were swept up in epic combat, while Death Eaters flooded into the foyer, including Snape, who had miraculously recovered.

Ron blasted ACDC, while Hermione, the only one equipped with a standard weapon, sent laser beams shooting from her wand, because she had up-graded.

Harry and Voldemort fought their way endlessly around the house, until Voldemort managed to push Harry down the laundry shoot (it was a rather _large_ laundry shoot, mind you) and run back downstairs.

It was when someone yelled an implied obscenity that the plot climbed.

"What the #$#$?!"

"That's it!" Voldemort screamed. "I've had it with these number signs and dollar signs in place of the actual word! I'm gonna say it, _and no sort of 'censor system' is gonna stop me!_" He took a deep breath. The rest of the room stopped fighting to watch, agape.

"_Go -_"

CRASH!

"Sorry," a random construction worker said, "Just dropped an anvil on six sheets of glass. I'll get that cleaned up."

Voldemort swallowed another gulp of air, and opened his mouth –

HONK HONK!!!

"Look, it's a semi parade!" a random child yelled from the random window.

Face tight with unhealthy anger, the Dark Lord started to take another breath –

BOOM! RUMBLE RUMBLE…. KA-BAM! VOOOOOOOOOM…VOOOOM……….BAM! BAM! BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!! SCREEEEEEEEEEECH! KA-**POW! **SQUEEK!

"Gee," a random person standing around said, "The house next-door just exploded, there was an earthquake, we launched an A-Bomb to the moon, a NASCAR race went around the house, an automatic bazooka just opened fire, someone dragged their fingers down a chalkboard, the A-Bomb _hit_ the moon, and the Toy Chihuahuas were released!

"Pretty coincidental, huh?" he asked brightly.

"But…" Voldemort quavered, suddenly frightened, "Who released the Toy Chihuahuas?"

"I did!" someone dramatically shouted.

Everyone looked toward the sound. Everyone gasped.

"That Potter kid!" The Dark Lord exclaimed.

"Dude," Ron said, "just call him Potter and get over with it."

Voldemort pouted, but nobody cared, because they all were watching Harry, holding the Toy Chihuahuas cage remote.

"How?" Snape asked. "I thought _I_ had that!"

"No, you weren't the _only _one doing any back-handed trickery, Snape. While we embraced, and you were busy planting the GPS thing, I took this out of your pocket!" 

"How did you know to look for it, with only a matter of seconds?"

"I always knew it was Snape, not Sirius!" Harry proclaimed, "I was just putting on the act to fool everyone, and gain access to the Toy Chihuahuas."

"Wow, Harry," Hermione marveled. "That was so uncharacteristically profound of you!"

"Well, I am," he walked over to her and cupped her chin in his hand, "fabulous."

"Wait a second…" Ron frowned. "Harry would never hit on Hermione like that! That's an imposter!"

"You're right!" Bellatrix shouted. "Plus there's a giant plug in his back!"

"A robo Harry!"

There was silence, as they contemplated the sudden turn in events.

"That is SO cool!"

"OMG!" 

"He's so much more handsome than the _real_ Harry!"

"Hold on!" Voldemort said holding up his hands, "What kind of fanfic _is _this? Drama?"

"No, Voldemort," the producer walked onto the set, "You're line is 'He's pimp'n!'"

"But come on, what is this? A _soap opera_? Because soap operas are the only type of shows that have doubles as characters mistaken for the real character!"

The producer sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll get the writers on it. Until then, use this script." He handed another booklet to the Dark Lord.

The title read "A Blast To The Past"

Everyone on set flipped through it. Their facial expressions varied.

"Well, let's get on it… Places, people!" Voldemort shouted.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: That's probably the best cliffhanger I've done so far, which is sort of sad… And you guys won't have time to wait, because it's the weekend and I'll have time to type up the next chapie. Lucky you!


	12. Blast to the Past

As you probably remember, in the last chapter, Voldemort had asked for a script change, because the original one was too much like a drama fic. Where we begin this chapter is with all the characters in some room, and Harry is _not_ robo Harry.

DC: Nope. Nada. Nothing. I own zip. Done.

"Read much, but not many books." – Benjamin Franklin. He obviously means you should read more fanfic.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Gee, Hermione." Harry said mechanically. "What do you think this button is?"

"I do not know, Harry." She replied, "Why do you not press it to find out?"

"Good idea, Hermione."

Harry pressed the button. It was large and red, and had a big sign above it that said 'Do not press, for fear of the Apocalypse'

Blinking lights made rings around the button, and suddenly colors began flashing all around the unidentified room. Loud buzzing noises made all the occupants cringe.

A sign cinched down from the ceiling: _Congratulations! You have triggered the Apocalypse! Prepare to burn in Hell!_

Confetti sprinkled down onto the bewildered group bellow. Lucius resisted very hard not to dance around in it.

"What is going on, Harry and Hermione?" Ron shouted robotically.

"I do not know, Ronald!" Harry said loudly, hands over ears.

"Ahh!" screamed everyone as the room shook, and they hurtled to their eternal punishments.

They ran around a little bit, attempting to find a door, and it was only logical that there would be one, seeing as they were _in_ the room, but alas, there was none.

So they ran around some more, and screamed too, and Voldemort took out his rosaries that he kept in plastic wrap around his neck, so it wouldn't burn him, and began praying. He was on the third bead when the world went black.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

…

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The UPS carriage rattled up the street. It was brown, white, and black, but that wasn't saying much, as everything in the world was.

The postman got out nervously and went up to the house.

He rang the doorbell. And organ complete with an organ player sitting next to the door began to play.

"Yesssss?"

"Package. For Mister Voldemort Voldemort."

"I don't see a package."

"It's still in the carriage. It's too heavy to lift without at least three people."

"What is it?"

"The new-fangled 'typewriter'. Mister Voldemort Voldemort is very up-to-date with the technology these days."

"One moment…"

The door swung open.

"Leave the carriage here."

"Whoa, what?" Color returned to life, and the producer stepped onto the set.

"Isn't the line 'Put the package down'?" the postman asked, flipping through the script that materialized in his hands.

"Yes, but it doesn't really make sense, since you're not holding it. So you have to leave the carriage here." The producer explained.

"Oh. But it lets the tradition down." 

"I know, so we're issuing an apology to all the fans who liked it."

"Fine. It ruins some of the bond that's been built up though."

"Yes, yes, whatever. Take it from 'Leave the carriage here.'"

The color drained back out again, and the voice boomed, "Leave the carriage here."

"What?" the postman protested, "I spent twelve pence on that! Do you know much that is out of my yearly salary? 75! 75! I can't just leave it!" 

"Well," and the voice sounded bored, "you could take it home with numerous wounds…"

"Just take the package out and leave the carriage out so I can pick it up in the morning!"

"Fine, postman, I shall spare you because I am too lazy to go pull the string to release the hounds. Run."

The postman ran.

Outside, the horses neighed.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Voldemort gleefully looked at his new piece of technology.

The typewriter, almost the size of a fireplace and heavy enough to splinter the wood of the desk, was his ultimate weapon. Because if all else failed, he could drop it on that Potter kid.

He cracked his knuckles and put his fingers on the keyboard.

He pressed the _shift_ key. It took two hands.

Still holding the shift, he managed to hit the _D_ key.

**Ca-chuncka!**

Voldemort switched to the _e_ key.

**Ca-chuncka!**

Now the _a_…

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

_**DING!**_

Voldemort smiled evilly. His plan was working perfectly. Now all he needed was to type the next 800 letters to send to that Potter kid…

At 7:30 pm, the sun went down, and to save their candlewick, Bellatrix blew out the lantern.

Everyone went to bed, except for Voldemort who continued with his typewriter.

All through the night, Snape, who slept in the room right next to the Dark Lord's lair, could hear him at work.

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

_**DING!**_

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

**Ca-chunka!**

_**DING!**_

Snape groaned, and tried to block the noise out with his straw-stuffed pillow. But the vibration coming through the floor, caused by the impact Voldemort used to press each key, was too much. Eventually, Snape got up to see what every one else was doing.

Downstairs, he found Lucius listening to his late night (9:00) radio program. Uninterested in _The Andy Griffith Show_, Snape moved on to the kitchen, where his fire pit was. He hung his kettle on the spit; full of the tea he had imported from India, and sat down to wait.

There was a rather large, shiny button sitting right next to his Peach Chai. It was very tempting. Furtively, ignoring the sign that said "Your life will perish, should ye press this red device." Snape pushed it in.

The world, after another series of pretty light displays, went black.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: This is the first in a small series, about technology in different, yet chronologically wrong eras. This one was sort of a mix, but was mainly based in the 1800's sometime. And for those who were too lazy to do the math, the postman's yearly salary would be 16 pence.


	13. Ye Get Medieval, BTTP

This one was more fun to write than I anticipated. I thought it would be hard to "translate" all the dialogue into Olde English, but as it turns out, all you really need to do is throw in some "thous" and "doths", and attatch "-eth" onto any given word. I'm sure Shakespeare would be proud.

DC: Avril Lavigne, minstrel style. Oh man, now I've really done it. I don't own her, whatever, la la la, okay, over with that. Moving on.

"Read-eth!" (Ha, I just mad that one up because it was funny. But I bet someone actually said it.)

…………………………………………………………………………………………...

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Minion!" Voldemort called.

"Yes, lord?" Snape appeared at the doorway.

"Doth be my parcel here yet?"

"Nay, lord. It doth not arriveth till the sky be blackened and lit-eth again."

"For perisheth, minion. Long haveth I awaited that parcel."

"Have patience, lord. For if it noteth arrive sooneth, we shall releaseth a pox upon ye postman's house, and all-eth his descendants."

"Excellenteth. Now go tend thou's brew."

"At onceth, lord." Snape bowed and left.

Voldemort rubbed his hands together gleefully. Tomorrow his newest piece of technology would arrive.

He leaned back in his high backed chair, careful not to squash his ruff. In his mind's eye he envisioned his next weapon.

"_Ye Olde Rat Parke_" he whispered. With ten furry little bodies of cheap labor, he could take the world on. Pimp'neth.

Because it was several hours until the sun went out only to be re-lit again by the cigar butt of the sky, the Dark Lord left his lair and went downstairs, to where he found Lucius cutting a hole in the parlor room.

"Lucius! What be-ith thou doing?"

The Death Eater turned around brightly. "Slicing a box in the walleth, lord!"

"For whateth purpose?"

"To see-eth the theatre, my lord! All the greateth forms of entertainment resideth there!"

"Ah-eth. Thou may continue on-eth."

Lucius bowed and heaved his axe onto his shoulder again. "I thanketh thou, lord."

Voldemort moved onto the kitchen.

"How doth thou be, Minion?"

"I faireth welleth, lord." Snape answered. "My brew doth be an invention of mine, and so-eth far-eth, it be quite delightful."

The Dark Lord leaned over the bubbling cauldron and sniffed. "Whateth be-ith in-eth there?"

"What I may findeth around, lord. Herbeths, coweth, watereth…"

"Watereth?" Voldemort asked, surprised, "But whereth did you acquire it? All that runeth from our taps be beer and rum, for that be-ith all not poisoned by-eth Cholera!"

"Oh, yes." Snape shrugged modestly. "That mayeth be true _here_, but I raneth down to the River Thames a few moons ago, and tooketh a bottle of it. I emptied it into thiseth."

Voldemort frowned. "Where is-eth this River Thames?"

"In-eth London, lord."

"London haseth a river?"

"Yes, lord. Tis the large trail of sludge that runeth through the very centereth."

"Ah-eth. That would explaineth it."

"Indeed, lord."

"Well, Minion, I willeth be going to _Ye Olde Flutes 'N Moreth Shoppe_ to see-eth if the minstrel has learned _Happyeth Endingeth_."

"By Mistress Lavigne?"

"That be-eth the one."

"Enjoy thou self, lord."

"I willeth."

As Voldemort disappeared down the street, Snape looked at his cauldron, and deciding it need a touch of rum, went out to the pump, holding his five-galleon bucket. Looking through the window, noticed a large package sitting on the step. _The postman must haveth delivered it-eth early-eth, _he though, and left his bucket to see what it was.

The parcel, slightly beat up in some places, was squeaking a little bit. Cautiously, Snape picked it up and carried it into the foyer. A piece of parchment nailed to the top read "This way towardeth the heavens, for there be-ith living creatures in-eth hereth."

"Oh," Snape said aloud, "this must be the _Ye Olde Rat Parke_ lord was talking about. Perhaps they be-ith famished."

Not one to starve fuzzy rodents, Snape went and got some of his stew. With much care, he ladled it into the box through the cracks, and realizing he still hadn't put the alcohol in, poured some galleons of rum in too.

Within a few moments, the hungry squeaking stopped.

Snape returned, pleased, to his kitchen to make some imported-from-Scotland tea. It was very hard to come by, and very expensive to transport.

An hour or two later, Voldemort returned, leading a minstrel by a chain around their neck. "I haveth purchased-eth the new set of songs, Minion!" he said brightly, "Now we shall haveth music all the time-eth!"

"Very good, lord." Snape said. "Thou's parcel arrived early-eth whilst thou be goneth."

"Ooh!" the Dark Lord clapped his hands excitedly. "Where doth it be?"

"In the parlor room, lord. Just by-eth the entertainment box of Lucius."

Voldemort sent the minstrel upstairs and proceeded to the parcel. He put it up next to his ear.

"It be-ith very quiet, Minion." The Dark Lord frowned.

"They sleep, lord. I gaveth them some of my delightful brew."

"Ah-eth." Slowly, Voldemort opened the parcel with his eating dagger.

Ten furry rats with red eyes leapt out and onto his face. "Ack-eth! Ack-eth!" he cried, clawing at the swarming rodents. "Get them off-eth! Get them off-eth!"

Snape grabbed a pie iron and raised it. "Hold-eth still-eth lord!" he cried and swung.

The rats abandoned Voldemort's face, and scampered across the room, foaming at the mouth.

"Stop-eth them!" he shouted, his face imprinted with a pie iron.

But they had already jumped out the open part of the wall that Lucius had cut out. Snape and Voldemort looked out and watched the rats as they raced down the street. Flames an destruction erupted in their paths, and in seconds London was chaos.

"Well-eth done, Minion," Voldemort said happily, "thou hath released the Black Death upon-eth the unsuspecting world."

"I thank-eth you, lord!" Snape said, as they watched Parliament fall.

"Hmm-eth." Voldemort said tapping his chin. "Wonder what be-ith this red device hereth. It says 'No push. Push make bad thing happen.'"

The two looked at each other shocked. "If only the speech were understandable-eth!" Snape exclaimed.

"Shall we find-eth out-eth what this doth be-ith?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Or courseth, lord."

Voldemort pressed it.

The world went black.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: I am totally and completely aware that the Black Death is a plague transported by _fleas_ on the rats, instead of a disease the rats themselves had from eating poisonous soup.


	14. WAY back in the day, BTTP

Well, okay, it's short, so I'm taking this time to say this:

_**Thank you thank you thank you thank you, all my amazing reviewers! You make my day! I'll take ideas if you have any, in return to your fantastic support!!!**_

And also here's another a Ginny's fabled stories… I was rereading some of my stuff, blah blah blah, and I realized that I was indeed cracking a lung, just from reading "Voldemort appeared only two inches from Snapes face." I guess the idea of Voldemort being really up in your bubble is funny… when it's not your bubble being invaded.

DC: Man… this is so time consuming… I don't own anything, k? Geez…

"[enter funny quote, uberhaxxor of pwnage"

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Over the cave's entrance, there were the crude symbols that said "MaLFoy MaNor"

A curtain of deer hide served as a door, and beyond that the caveren honeycombed off into different "rooms"

Inside, Voldemort with a larger than typically thought to be normal forehead arranged his loincloth. It was the latest style: Leopard print with specially blood-matted fur. It was all the rage in Mesopotamia.

The attire was special, because today the UPS homo-sapian would be bringing his newest development.

"Sir." Snape said by the deerskin. "Package for you."

"Good." Voldemort grunted. "Me want package for me. Bring here now!"

"Yes." Snape said, and left, swinging himself on his knuckles.

The Dark Lord waited and waited for his useful Minion to return, but no such luck. Annoyed, he finally went to the foyer. He found Snape attempting to hold the package while walk with it. It was quite difficult, and Voldemort could immediately see why Snape had taken so long. Multi-tasking was not anything to be underestimated.

He kindly took the package from Snapes struggling hands, and opened it in the foyer. Inside the rock box, lay the tools of his domination.

There was a little pile of lint, a shiny rock, and some metal.

"Fi-yah!" Voldemort cackled, "I fire now!"

"Sir, you scary." Snape cowered.

"Mwa ha ha ha ha!"

The fire sparked and leapt from the lint to the rock box, which, because the laws of physics hadn't been invented yet, caught fire. The amazing lights mesmerized Voldemort and Snape, until the whole house spontaneously-combusted.

Luckily, they were both magical, so they lived, just barely. As the Death Eaters crawled out from the stone rubble, Bellatrix saw a button, a red one, and pressed it, because it was shiny, and couldn't read the words that said: Dude, pressing this button would _totally _throw off my groove's vibes, man.

The sun went out, not to be re-lit by the cigar butt of the sky for quite some time.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: Yes, I know, it's short. I probably wouldn't even be using it, but I set up for it in Ye Get Medieval, and I couldn't resist poking fun at Neanderthal Voldy.


	15. Groovy Man, BTTP

This one was fun too. I hope nobody is offended by hippies/1960's, with some 70's thrown in there. Woot! I love mockery! (But not being sued.)

DC: I don't own fros, the words "groovy", "vibe" or "man", or Idaho. But the things I could do if I did…

"Veni, vidi, dormir" – anonymous. (That was my favorite.)

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

………………………………………………………………………………………………

A rather interesting smell enveloped the flower painted van as it trundled up the street. It was a mix between a burning potato field and McDonalds. The postman was very pleased with his vegetable oil powered truck, so pleased that it made his groove tingle with environmental security.

He approached Malfoy Manor.

His groove cowered at the sight of horribly arranged Fung Shui. Every blade of grass was going the wrong way, and the energy vibrating off the house in general would definably call the demon spirits.

Gripping the long-tooth comb he had for his fro, the postman went up the walk and rang the doorbell. Possibly real guitar music picked out "Staying Alive" in the minor key.

"Yessss?"

"Hey, package, man." The postman said in completely normal dialect, "For Voldy Voldy, man."

"Cool your jets for a sec, man." More day-to-day speech.

The door opened, and the smell of marijuana wafted out. The postman sniffed. At least the scent was normal…

"But the package down, man."

"That'd be groovy and all, but you just gotta sign this-" The postman raised his clipboard.

"Dude, you don't wanna mess up my vibes today. Just put the package down, get outta here."

"Man, I'd love to, but my groove just wouldn't be down with that-"

"Don't make me get out the Vietnam draft, man." The voice warned. "And there's no way you're gonna be able to reach Canada in time to escape."

Not up to any sort of showdown, as the marijuana smells were allowing him to be at peace with the world, the postman set the package down.

"Later, man." He said, and left, chugging away in his French fry oil powered van.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Voldemort had to say; he was rather disappointed with the package. It could hardly be considered a package to begin with. It was much closer to an envelope.

He started to stroke it away, but realizing that it wasn't very fun, took out a cigarette lighter.

The envelope ablaze, and smoking severally, (which would've been a problem, except for the fact that there wasn't a single smoke detector in the whole manor) Voldemort hummed "Yellow Submarine" and pushed around the ashes in his ash tray.

Finally, when the entire envelope had disintegrated, the Dark Lord swept the charred pile from his lap and looked at the letter, completely unharmed.

"Hmm." He said. "It must take some pretty groovy vibes to get a secret weapon into this little thing."

Voldemort opened it up and read it.

_Yo customer,_

_Our grooves are giving off vibes that the thing you have "purchased" it too humungo to be delivered. While we are totally sorry about this bad-vibe experience, we will be dropping you off your computer via the "Peace-Copter". _

_Peace out, man!_

_**The**__ Bill Gates_

How humungo is this computer? Voldemort wondered.

"Yo, sir!" Snape entered respectfully through the beads hanging in the doorway. "I just made some tea. Do you have some good vibes about it?"

"Hey, why not, man." Voldemort said. "Hook me up."

Snape left and returned quickly, handing the Dark Lord a steaming mug.

Voldemort took a sip. "Whoa," he said, as the room slowly began to spin, "this is some groovy tea!"

"It's a blend of mine." Said the three different Snapes, now a variety of colors. "I steeped some of the norm, and then some of Bellatrix's powdery stuff."

"That would be her currently legal crack stash, right man?"

"Totally man…" the Snapes from all around echoed. The roof opened up, and above Voldemort could see puffy clouds, cotton candy pink and floating rainbows. He drifted upward and landed on one of the clouds, sailing through the peaceful world…

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"….Yo…."

Voldemort blinked.

"Sir…"

He slowly sat up, a hand to his head. "What…"

"It's the crack sir." Snape said, "It has good vibes, but they knock you out for a little while."

"Oh, Snape…" Voldemort moaned. "I had such a groovy dream… And now all the good vibes have ditched…"

"You were high. Now you're back on earth. But don't worry; it's completely healthy and normal."

"Good." Voldemort looked around. "I want some more tea."

"You chugged it all already."

"Then I want my marijuana."

"Right away, man."

Snape left and returned. He handed the Dark Lord a cigarette, then respectfully lit it.

"Thanks man…" Voldemort muttered woozily. "Hey, do you hear that buzzing noise?"

Snape looked around. "Whoa, I think I do." He said. "I smell burning potatoes…"

"Yo! Sir!" Lucius burst into the room, his fro frazzled with fright. "There's a helicopter above the house! It's the Man!"

"That's not groovy, Lucius." Voldemort said, striding to the door. "The Man wouldn't come after us. And the Man doesn't use potato grease as fuel; they use 'fossil fuels'" Voldemort used the quotations marks around his head.

"But sir, who could it be?" Lucius asked, cowering by the handing beads in the door.

"It's the Peace-Copter, coming with my computer!" the Dark Lord declared, "At last, my groove will be complete!"

Voldemort, Snape, and Lucius went to the window, which happened to be rather wide for story line purposes, and leaned out.

Suspended twenty feet above the roof was a helicopter with spiraling flowers painted on it, enveloped in what would've enveloped the United States, should Idaho catch fire. Hung on cables was a box the size of a small room.

"Hey man!" shouted a young Bill Gates from the cockpit, "Here's your computer!" 

There was a thunk below Voldemort's face. It turned out to be his jaw. All he could do for several minutes was stare.

"Sir, we have to put it somewhere soon," Snape said. "The flax hemp supporting the box is getting some bad vibes!"

"It's _what_?"

Snape sighed and momentarily abandoned the everyday dialect. "It's fraying!" and then for the sake of making it more realistic, he added, "Man!" 

"Oh." Voldemort nodded, and then motioned toward the roof. "Just drop it right there, man!" he shouted to Bill Gates.

"Wait!" Snape cried, "That's _my_ room!"

"Well go get your stuff out! I'll hold them up for five minutes!" 

Snape ducked out of the window and raced to his room. Voldemort stood for about thirty seconds.

"Can we put it down now, man?" called the young Bill Gates.

Voldemort shrugged. "Don't see why not! Let it go!"

Bill Gates nodded, took out his cigarette lighter, and lit the hemp on fire.

"Ahhh!" screamed Snape from his room, "Not yet, man! Not yet!"

But the box smashed down anyway. There was a muffled crunch.

"Later man!" Bill Gates shouted. "Peace out!"

The Peace-Copter flew away.

Lucius pulled his head back inside. "I'm going back to the den, man." He said.

"We have a den?" Voldemort asked, also coming back into the room.

"Den, opium den, same difference. Later." Lucius muttered, leaving.

The Dark Lord shook his head. These youngsters and their crazes. Bellatrix herself was the neighborhood's drug dealer.

He went into Snapes room. It was sad to see that the computer barely fit. Whether this was a testament to how big the computer was, or how small the room was remains to be seen.

The box, which was made out of recycled paper, had already burned off, while leaving the computer inside unscarred.

Delightedly, Voldemort searched for the screen, thinking that it must be huge, for a machine this size.

When at last he found the moniter, it turned out to be 5 inches by 5 inches, including the two inch border all the way around.

"Whoa…" Voldemort said, eyes round, "That is one humungo screen, man!" He found the on switch, which actually consisted of an entire panel, and by throwing all his body mass against it, was able to boot the machine up.

He teared up a little, until the computer died. Green letters on the black screen blinked "power failure".

Grumbling, Voldemort went downstairs, past the opium den where Lucius was lying face first on the ground, through the kitchen which was now the make-shift "pharmacy" and down the little ladder into the basement.

Using a baseball bat stored by the light switch, the Dark Lord fought off the cockroaches and their booze syringes, and located the power box.

"Now…" the Dark Lord muttered as he gazed into the mass of wires and cockroach larva, "which one… which one…"

A rather large, groovy button presented itself.

Voldemort ignored it.

Indignant, the button went out and bought a lava lamp.

"Oooh…" the Dark Lord said, "That's hip!"

He pressed the button.

As you can guess, the whole world went black.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: This is on a rather serious note: I know that drugs are nothing to joke about, or to be portrayed as something "okay" because your favorite fanfic characters are doing them. These are "fake" drugs. I seriously doubt drinking steeped crack would give you happy hallucinations. Don't do drugs.


	16. THE End

Well, it's sad but true. This is the last installment of iVoldy. Not to worry, I have plenty of other plots up my sleeve, but this particular one is coming to a close.

DC: All I can say is Apple had better pay-up soon…

"A computer once beat me at chess, but it was no match for me at kickboxing." Very nice. It fit so well with the overall theme of this fic that I decided to use it for the last chapter.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Eventually, the lights came back on. Every occupant was on the floor.

Harry sat up, holding his head. "That was… weird." He said.

There was a murmured agreement as everyone slowly got to their feet.

"Shall we continue with the original story now?" the producer asked, holding a bundle of new scripts and passing them out.

"Don't tell me we've got to do the entire story _again_..." Snape moaned, "The magic marker gave me hives last time…"

"Just pick it up again from when the trio bursts into Malfoy Manor," the producer said. "Line… 'WTF?!'"

"You mean 'What the #$#$?!' right?"

"Right…" the producer coughed nervously. "Yes, the censored version… of course…" He left the set muttering.

Ron mouthed "crazy" and imitated a cuckoo clock.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"What the #$#$?!"

It was Bellatrix. She was looking out the window, where a black van could be seen pulling up.

"What _is_ that?" Lucius asked, stopping his duel, "What does 'irs' mean?"

"You idiot!" Hermione said, "That's _IRS_! Internal Revenue Service!"

The stares were so blank you could've painted a picture on them.

"Taxes!"

… Then you could've painted _another_ picture, on top of the first one.

Hermione groaned and put a hand to her forehead. "Less money!" she exclaimed.

There was quite a lot of stupidity in the room, so it stuck around for a few moments before the realization struck.

"Let's get the hell outta here!" Voldemort shouted, making a break for the door. The Death Eaters raced after him. Ron and Hermione stood shocked, as the Dark Lord escaped through the back door.

"We'll never find him now!" Ron said tearfully.

"If only there was some way to track them!" Hermione moaned.

"Hey guys!" Harry said brightly, entering the room with a dirty sock in his hair, "Guess what?"

Taking the desolate expressions as badly conveyed joy about guessing games, Harry held up a small remote. "I found this nifty thingy in the basement!"

"Harry," Hermione gasped, taking the remote from his hand, "This is the remote for the Toy Chihuahua cage!"

"Wow, Hermione," Ron said, surprised, "How did you know that?"

She shrugged. "Elementary, my dear Weasley."

"Um… whatever. Anyways, Harry, how did you get this?"

"Well," Harry began modestly, "After Voldemort cheated and pushed me down the laundry shoot, I thought quickly, and used the dehydrated trampoline I had in my pocket to soften the blow. After fighting off the swarms of cockroaches that monopolized the basement, I was able to discover this by a large, squealing cage."

"Snape must've left it there on accident." Hermione exclaimed. "Harry, with this, we can defeat Voldemort! Chihuahua's have acute senses of smell. Ron, you hold off the IRS, while Harry and I find some of Voldemort's clothing."

Ron nodded and prepared his iPod while the other two raced upstairs.

"Clothing… clothing…" Harry muttered as they searched the Dark Lord's lair, "Doesn't this guy have any sort of wardrobe?!"

They checked everywhere, but to no avail. Soon, Hermione was getting frustrated.

"He must change is clothes _some_ time! Underwear, at the very least."

The two paused, sudden thoughts presenting themselves in very graphic manners. It was spontaneously decided that Voldemort's underwear was going too far.

"Tea." Harry said hoarsely, still recovering from the mental images, "Snape smells like tea. And since Voldemort is so lazy, you can bet that wherever Snape is, Voldemort is too."

"Brilliant!"

Again, they sped around the house, eventually finding the kitchen.

It was a hall of tins and novelty labels. Each blend and mix was arranged in a complimentary pattern, all angled toward a chrome machine, under which lay several offerings.

"It's like some sort of temple," Harry whispered, slightly frightened.

"The most recent tea he's had will be the one on the automatic tea maker," Hermione reasoned. "Once we know which type it is, we can give it to the Toy Chihuahua's to track."

Slowly they approached the machine. The tins formed a huge cavern, and fiery torchlight from some unknown place cast strange shadows of kettles and collectable spoons.

The two mounted the imposing steps up to the dais. There, in the center, sat the tea maker. On the top of that was the blend.

Harry made to take the tea, but Hermione stopped him.

"We need a counterweight." She hissed, holding up a random platter of burnt crumpets. Harry nodded.

"On three. One… two… three!" Harry grabbed the box as Hermione quickly replaced it with the pastries. They held their breath…

Nothing happened.

"It worked!" Harry crowed. "We're taking you _down_, Voldemort!" He punched the air triumphantly, displacing the oxygen mass above the crumpets, and activating Snape's rather prehistoric burglar system.

A giant tea strainer, the size of an elephant, dropped from the ceiling, and began rolling after the two.

"Run!" screamed Hermione, because Harry seemed to need the hint.

Clutching the tea box, they ran hard and fast, dodging the anvils of biscotti, and leaping over pits of quick sugar.

The strainer rolled after them, squashing everything in its path. Ron stood at the kitchen's entrance, urging them faster.

Suddenly they burst into the foyer, and the tea strainer lodged itself into the basement steps, effectively cutting off all the Napoleonic cockroaches oxygen supply.

"We got it!" Hermione panted.

"Excellent!" Ron said. "Let's go give them to the Toy Chihuahuas!"

Smiling happily, the trio walked over to the basement steps, and whacked their faces on the tea strainer.

"#$#$." Hermione muttered, rubbing her noise.

"Let's just take the laundry shoot." Harry muttered, and led them upstairs.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The postman nodded. "That's the house, officer." He said, "The one with the thundercloud."

The tax official nodded. "Thank you, sir. You've helped to bring in some undeserving civilians to justice."

"Good." The postman said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an early retirement to plan…"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

So in the end, Harry, Ron, and Hermione captured Voldemort and turned him into the IRS, who gave him six months in prison for not paying his taxes on his electric bill.

The postman, as planned, retired early in the Bahamas, and never had to ask for anyone's signature again.

Snape went on to guest star with Martha Stewarts, and eventually got his own show, _Tea and Me_.

Bellina joined up with the CIA, and is helping to turn in international spies around the world. After overcoming the language barrier, she is now a successful agent.

And the other Death Eaters got a bigger TV.

Finio!

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

AN: Until next time!


	17. Blast To The Future?

Well guys, I have good news and bad news. What do you want first? I'll give the bad news.

**Bad news:** I have major writer's block/lack of determination in Cajun Time. Almost to the point of abandoning it. It'll hang in there, but just prepare yourself if you wanted some speedy installments.

**Good news:** After countless hours debating the choice in deep thought, I have decided to open iVoldy, for an epilogue. That is all, no more. One epilogue for you guys, because you all gave me fantastic reviews.

DC: Ha! Can't sue me here, this is all using _predicted_ franchises! Take that, Economy World!

01010010-01100101-01100001-01100100 (This is "Read". I swear.)

……………………………………………………………………………………...

Text Enter:

Location Enter:

Malfoy Manor

Time Enter:

Month: Unfound

Day: Unfound

Year: 3000 AD

;-P

Ignoring the fact that the Holo-Port had switched his right arm and leg around, the postman rang the doorbell and waited nervously.

"Yes-s-s-s-s-s-s?" asked the robotic voice.

"Package, for Mister Voldemort Voldemort." The postman said.

"O-o-one mo-o-o-o-me-e-e-e-e-nt plea-a-a-a-a-a-se."

The door opened of it's own accord. Mabye a millennia ago, the postman might have been scared, but with today's technology it was easy to guess that some amazing, unnamed device was obviously opening the door.

Confident in this excuse, the postman entered the foyer.

"Put the package down!" 

"Just sign this digi-pad for it-"

"NO! Foolish postman, I've played this game with every single one of your ancestors! I will never sign your #$#$ing digi-pad!"

"But sir," the postman struggled, "You need to claim this computer!"

"Wha - ?" the voice sounded startled. "Computer? Those things are obsolete! Passe!"

"Well, you ordered it…"

"I am officially _un_-ordering it!"

"Then…" fumbling around in his digi-pad's storage space, the postman selected another document, "You'll need to fill out this official terms of un-orderment form, and send it in within five business days."

The voice orally twitched. "I will be forced to release the robotic hounds, man."

Suddenly frozen with fear, the postman remembered all of his father's horror stories.

"Yes, foolish UPS man, deconstruct you carbon base, and see if you can beat my Chihuahuas!"

As quickly as possible, which was very quick for a postman about to wet himself, the entrance hall became empty again.

It was only two minutes after cackling that the voice realized his Robo-Chihuahua need to be charged.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Irritably, Voldemort plugged in the final Chihuahua and straightened up. That was the last time he gave his Minion the day off. When Snape Droid 24 wasn't around, nothing got done.

Returning to the second floor via teleportation, Voldemort settled into his comfy holographic chair. One might presume that a holograph couldn't hold anything, but it was surprising what those guys over at Artificial Intelligence Incorporated could do with a few atom reactors and some lighter fluid.

"Bellina!" Voldemort called to his Italian video camera/servant. The camera floated to the doorway, wearing mascara, though it is impossible for any electronic device to wear make-up.

_Sí? _[Yes?)

"Get me something to drink. Preferably something not made from a paste or powder."

_Subito, signore_. [Right away, sir.) She floated away, and out of earshot muttered _Stupido._ [Idiot.)

Voldemort stretched out. Life, as eternal as it could be, was sweet. Aside from the whole "torn, bloodied, and slightly dingy bits of soul" factor, he was fairly content. In a good mood, he summoned Snape Droid 24.

"Yes – Master?"

"Ah, Snape Droid 24…"

"That – Is – My – Name."

"Indeed, indeed. Well, Snape Droid 24, I've decided to grant you your little request."

Snape Droid 24 clasped his metallic hands with artificial joy. "Really – Master?"

"Yes," the Dark Lord said loftily, "I've decided to buy you that special Black Orange Spice oil you've been eyeing for quite some time."

"That – Is – Fantastic – Master."

"I know I am… Any way, you are excused Snape Droid 24."

Snape Droid 24 wheeled out.

Still waiting for his drink, the Dark Lord picked at his holographic chair. Come to think of it, hadn't there been some sort of warning attached to this thing?

If only he could remember what it had been on…

_It was about a nuclear reaction,_ his conscience said resentfully.

What? Voldemort was surprised, if not a little impressed. That was some hell of a conscience. It had lasted a millennium in the latrine.

_Yes, I'm still alive you nimrod, now get me out!_

The Dark Lord pouted, and left the squirming mass of practical thought in the decomposing hole, returning to pick more at his fancy chair.

Suddenly, the chair began to quiver and shake. Alarmed, Voldemort leapt up, rubbing his back-side.

"I did _not_ ask for the massage!" he proclaimed. "Snape Droid 24! Bellina! Lucius's Ghost! Get in here!"

The three called stampeded into the room, as much as a wheeling robot, a floating video camera, and an illusion of light can stampede.

"Yes?" Lucius's Ghost asked.

"I broke my special chair! And I don't know what's going on!"

_Well, gee, it's not like anyone tried to __**warn**__ you something like this would happen,_ the conscience said sarcastically.

Shut up! Voldemort commanded, Just tell me what's wrong with it!

The conscience sighed_. Fine. That chair is made of lighter fluid and atomic matter. By picking at it (which was warned against in the manual you used to light your cigarette on,) you have ultimately started another world war._

"The third world war!" Voldemort gasped, "I've started the third world war!"

"Um, no." Lucius's Ghost pointed out. "This would be the… 18th…."

_No, più di quello. Ci devono essere almeno quattro dopo il Texas ottengono bombardati. _[No, more than that. There must have been at least four after Texas got nuked.) Bellina put in.

_It's the 42__nd__ world war. And half of those would've been prevented if you hadn't ignored me just to prank call the heads of the Middle East and America._

"WWXLII." Voldemort whispered. "Wow…"

"Master – By – My – Readings – This – Atomic – Chair – Will – Have – Enough – Energy – To – Blow – Up – The – Entire – Universe." Snape Droid 24 said, possibly worriedly, if any emotional intonation could be applied to a robotic voice.

The room was silent.

"That's some helluva chair." Voldemort said eventually.

The others displayed a form of agreement.

And so it was that the universe, and all it's inhabitants met their untimely demise, or in some people's case, their overly late demise. Because not even torn, bloodied, and slightly dingy bits of soul can prevent death after standing two feet away from an atomically explosive chair.

The homicidal cockroaches, on the other hand, continued life, as cockroaches can survive anything.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

AN: I discovered something else: to make things futuristic, simply hyphenate two computer-related words.


End file.
